


ghost town

by godhateslev



Series: Komahina Stuff [4]
Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Blood and Injury, Chess, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drug Abuse, Drug Withdrawal, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Komaeda Nagito & Tsumiki Mikan Friendship, Literal Sleeping Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Relapsing, Religious Guilt, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Warning: Enoshima Junko, bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29624277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godhateslev/pseuds/godhateslev
Summary: {TW!!}“Oh, god, you’re okay--” Hajime took a shaky breath and hugged him as tightly as he could, nearly squeezing the breath out of him. “What the hell were you thinking? You- you scared me so badly, Nagito, I thought I lost you again-”“…Sorry.” Nagito croaked, gripping Hajime’s back tightly. “Didn’t mean to…”“I-” He laughed, tears still streaming down his face. “You’re such a fucking idiot, you know that? I can’t believe you’re still alive…”“Lucky.” Nagito responded.“I know. You’re the luckiest idiot I’ve ever met.”***in which Nagito almost dies a few times, but Hajime is always there to save him somehow
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Series: Komahina Stuff [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2194500
Comments: 12
Kudos: 124





	ghost town

**Author's Note:**

> 1-800-662-4357: Substance Abuse Hotline  
> 800-273-8255: National Suicide Prevention Lifeline  
> ***  
> okay, one of my stories got 1000 hits, which is WILD, so i wrote this to commemorate  
> please mind the tags, much of this subject can be triggering and I don't want to upset anyone. stay safe my loves

Nagito had been taking the pills since he was in middle school. They were tiny blue discs, small enough to swallow without any water. He still remembered the first day they were prescribed to him, the doctors handing his parents a clear orange pill bottle and telling him to take it daily.

It was remarkable how well they worked. For once in his life, Nagito was not in constant debilitating pain. If he didn’t have them, he would become physically ill. Once on a school trip, he forgot his meds and had to be rushed to the nearest hospital where his parents picked him up.

The pills were the only constant in Nagito’s ever-changing life. They were there for him when no one else was, and he couldn’t bear the thought of being without them. Despite the fact that they subdued his constant chronic pain, the meds made him feel good, too. The feeling was almost euphoric.

He found himself bribing Mikan for a refill if he finished them early (which he often did). Mikan, dependent on drugs as well, reluctantly complied. She had always been somewhat of a pushover.

The real obstacle here was Hajime Hinata. As much as Nagito adored him, he couldn’t stand his constant check-ups on all his “friends” (Hajime was not really his friend, simply pitying him). Hajime’s supervision made nearly any form of self-soothing impossible, which Nagito was sure was the objective. For once, he had to actively hide his knives and pills from someone.

Hajime started administering his and Mikan’s drug use. It made him violently ill, and he didn’t eat for days. Still, he got some relief from the small amount of medicine he was allowed to have. It was enough to keep him high and disconnected from the world.

***

Nagito had a box of knives under his bed. He collected them over the years, keeping them safe together. There was always a first-aid kit packed in with the knives.

The best part of harming himself was not the actual inflicting of the pain, but rather the aftermath in which he would clean and dress the wounds. Caring for someone hurt made him feel needed. He was always meticulous, making sure the sharp cuts were neither visible nor easily infected.

Since he stopped taking his pills regularly, though, Nagito was no longer careful. His wounds were messy and erratic, just like his brain. The silence in his head was so painfully loud that it made him scream. Or maybe he didn’t. He had no idea, the ringing in his ears drowned out all noise. He needed to ground himself, needed his medicine, and needed his knives.

He stood up on shaky legs and glared at the person in the mirror. It was supposed to be him, it should have been him-- but it wasn’t. It was her and her ice blue eyes boring into his own. She smiled, her canine teeth looking suspiciously like fangs. She reached a manicured hand around his throat and squeezed, drawing blood from his already pale skin as she gently kissed his neck. It made him sick, the way her kisses were sweet like vanilla but burned holes into his flesh. Gossip said that her lip gloss must have been laced with cyanide. It was only rumor, but Nagito believed it to be true. He had never felt before the smoldering of her shiny pink lips all over his body, everywhere he didn’t want to be touched, everywhere he cut and cut and cut until there was nothing left of him.

He broke the mirror.

His fist was covered in blood, glass shards piercing his skin. More shattered pieces of the mirror fell to the floor, as did he. They cut and scratched at his knees as if he were a child again, forced to kneel on rice until his aunt told him to stop. But he didn’t stop, because he deserved the pain, and it was so _horrible_ , yet the most he had felt in months.

***

_“Komaeda, fuck! Wake up!”_

A distressed cry pierced his skull as he peeled his eyes open. They were dry and cold from the tears, eyelashes stuck together with what must have been blood. Everything hurt. It was _agonizing_ , and he wanted to _tell_ someone, but he couldn’t _say anything_. It was like his throat was being constricted by _her_.

_“Komaeda!”_

Someone was crying above him, their voice cracking horribly. It was not a pleasant sound.

_“Please, please, I can’t lose you again, I can’t--”_

Nagito lifted a hand to the person’s face, as painful as it was. His fingers grazed their wet cheek, trying to show that he was okay, that _everything was okay_.

The person grabbed his hand and sobbed, this time out of relief. Nagito’s vision was too blurry to make out anything but the ceiling, which for some reason was dripping with blood. Or maybe it wasn’t, because everything was fading in and out and tears were rolling down his cheeks and he was clinging onto Hajime, _his Hajime,_ for dear life, as if letting go of him would make him disappear. Because yes, that person was definitely his Hajime, with his strong arms and spiky hair and melodic voice that didn’t sound nearly as nice when he was crying.

He wanted to die in Hajime’s arms forever.

***

Nagito awoke again to the sight of his Hajime looming above him. This seemed to be a new constant in his life-- one that couldn’t really replace the pills, but was a nice thought all the same. Hajime looked extremely distressed, his eyes red from crying and blood splattered all over his clothes. It wasn’t really splattered, truly. It was more like the blood had seeped into the fabric of his shirt and left an ugly stain. It was only fitting that an ugly person like him would leave an ugly stain with his ugly blood on his lovely Hajime’s lovely white button-down shirt.

“…nata-kun?” He whispered, his voice hoarse and croaky from disuse. Or too much use. Nagito always had trouble remembering things he was supposed to remember.

“Oh, god, you’re okay--” Hajime took a shaky breath and hugged him as tightly as he could, nearly squeezing the breath out of him. “What the hell were you thinking? You- you scared me so badly, Nagito, I thought I lost you again-”

“…Sorry.” Nagito croaked, gripping Hajime’s back tightly. “Didn’t mean to…”

“I-” He laughed, tears still streaming down his face. “You’re such a _fucking_ _idiot_ , you know that? I can’t believe you’re still alive…”

“Lucky.” Nagito responded.

“I know. You’re the luckiest idiot I’ve ever met.”

Was he an idiot? Probably. No normal person would do what he did, right?

He realized just how tightly Hajime was gripping his shoulders and shifted uncomfortably. Hajime noticed and loosened his grip, still holding him. His own arms and legs were bandaged so tightly it stung, but he didn’t say anything to Hajime. If he did, Hajime would end up loosening his bandages and he would go back to scratching at the wounds.

Instead, he decided to lay his head down on the hospital pillow and stare at Hajime, who was awkwardly fidgeting with something in his hands. Nagito recognized it as one of his knives from the box under his bed. Normally, he wouldn’t care. Normally, he would let Hajime take it away from him. Because, hey, he always had more, didn’t he?

But that knife was special. His father had gotten it for him when he turned ten, telling him it was “for outdoorsy activities”. His mother had scoffed at it, saying something about how weapons shouldn’t be allowed in the house. But Nagito was ecstatic. He took it everywhere he went- it was the reason he had gotten out of many hostage situations, and sometimes his only method of self-defense.

The handle was made of gilt bronze, with a raven carved into the hilt. The blade itself was titanium, with a sharp, curved edge and a hook that flipped it open and closed. It was strange to not have it with him, and even worse that it was right out of his reach.

He tried his best to claw it out of Hajime’s hands desperately. He couldn’t move his body, so he settled on grasping at it with his bandaged arms.

“Hey, stop.” Hajime scolded. Nagito ignored him, reaching out to take the weapon. Hajime pulled his arm away. “It’s just for your safety, I’m not taking it away--"

“Give-- it--!” He gasped, voice breaking. His throat felt like it was being crushed by a metal collar. Maybe it was.

“I just want to make sure you’re safe--”

“Give it back!” He hissed, nails clawing at Hajime’s thighs. “It’s-- _mine_ , give it _back!_ ”

“Calm down!” Hajime put the knife in his pocket and grabbed Nagito by the hands, steadying him. “Calm down, Komaeda, please.”

“It’s _mine_ , Hinata-kun--!”

“I know it’s yours, but I don’t want you hurting yourself with it.”

“I won’t, I promise-- please give it back now, I won’t hurt myself, I just need--!”

“I’ll give it back, just not now.”

“No! You can’t just _take_ it from me!”

“Komaeda--”

“I’ll do whatever you want! You can hit me, kick me, whatever you want, just let me have it back, please!” He let his head drop down between his shoulders, letting his arms go limp in Hajime’s hands.

“Please, Hajime.”

Hajime sighed and shook his head, squeezing Nagito’s hand lightly.

“I can’t do that.”

“Hinata-kun!” He shouted as Hajime stood up from the chair and let go of his hands. “Hinata-kun, where are you going?”

“Your cottage.” Hajime responded. “I need to make sure you don’t have other things that could be used to hurt yourself.”

Nagito’s shoulders sank as he laid his head down on the pillow. He wanted to chase after Hajime, badly, but he quite literally could not move his body. He got the feeling Hajime was upset at him already, and it would only get worse when Hajime found his box of knives.

Maybe Hajime would finally realize that he was beyond saving and give up on him.

***

Mikan walked in the room at some point, announcing that she was going to medicate him to soothe his pain. She seemed visibly nervous as she pulled him into an upright position. Nagito noticed something on the cart behind her. Those tiny blue pills, _his_ tiny blue pills, just out of reach.

“Tsumiki-san.” He said, staring at the pill bottle.

“P-please stay still…” She stuttered, wiping his arm with a disinfectant wipe while she prepped a needle. Nagito didn’t like needles. She gave him a look, sucking some clear substance from a tiny glass bottle into the thin syringe.

“What is that stuff?” He asked her.

She handed the glass container to him, letting him examine the label. _MORPHINE_ was written in bold capital letters, _Injection, USP_ printed below it. Mikan stuck the orange needle cap onto the opening of the syringe, grabbing Nagito’s forearm.

She put the cap back on the glass bottle, pulling it out of Nagito’s hands. Quickly, she stuck the needle down into his skin and injected the liquid into his arm, the pain leaving him as soon as it came. Mikan cleaned the wound with a wipe, sticking a tiny bandage on it after the blood had been wiped away.

After a few minutes, a familiar wave of relief hit him, the pain and tenseness releasing from his entire body. Mikan sighed as she watched him lean back in the bed, as if she was expecting such a reaction.

“Morphine. I-it’s what’s in those pills you’re addicted to.”

“I’m not addicted.” He sighed.

“W-well, you have a bit of an unhealthy dependency o-on them… A-anyways! This is a much higher dosage than you’re p-probably used to, but it might be necessary now… due to your pain, I mean--”

She went on, but Nagito wasn’t listening. Finally he had his meds back.

***

Hajime was by his side again, stroking his forearm as he stared at the ceiling. His brain felt like molasses, moving agonizingly slow as if he was disconnected from reality. He was crying again, but not out of feeling. The morphine made him emotional, along with its euphoric high.

“Hajime…” He sighed, pulling the other’s hand to his face and resting it on his wet cheek. Hajime jumped slightly at the use of his first name.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, I need to tell you something, Hajime…” Nagito smiled sadly as Hajime’s hand cupped his face. “Are you listening?”

“I’m listening.”

“Okay, I’ll tell you. But you have to promise to keep it a secret, Hajime.”

“I promise.”

“I believe you, Hajime, so I’ll tell you, okay?”

Nagito turned to face him directly, grabbing awkwardly at his chest. Hajime leaned in and let Nagito hold him gently. Nagito giggled, which was very out of character for him. Hajime knew not to take anything he said too literally, considering he was _“tripping off his balls”_ , as Kazuichi had put it.

“It’s so nice to have you here, Hajime…” He slurred, already having forgotten about the promise he made to Hajime earlier. “I’m so lonely at night…” Hajime felt his cheeks flush.

 _He’s high,_ he told himself. _He doesn’t know what he’s saying._

“I have a body pillow, and sometimes I pretend it’s a person, you know…” He laughed breathlessly. “That’s so pathetic, isn’t it?”

“No, not to me. I think it’s sweet.”

“Oh, Hajime, you have to stop. You’re so nice to me, I could almost fall in love…” Nagito giggled. “You’re so lovely, so kind. You’re so special, Hajime, you’re so _hopeful…”_

He pawed at Hajime’s face, trying to get a grip on him. It was a useless effort, really, because he just ended up out of breath and giddy.

“Hajime, come to bed.” He mumbled, hands on Hajime’s waist. “I’m so lonely all the time, I just want to see you…”

“Whatever, whatever.” Hajime sighed, crawling up next to him on the hospital bed. Nagito let out a relieved sigh and curled up next to him. Nagito pulled a shaky finger up to Hajime’s chest and started drawing shapes on his shirt.

“You’re really out of it, aren’t you?”

Nagito drew a heart with his finger, smiling widely.

“I made a heart.”

“Go to sleep, Komaeda.”

“I want to draw more.”

“You can draw all day tomorrow. I want you to sleep now, okay?”

“Hajime wants me to? Okay, I will. Goodnight.” He yawned and collapsed on top of Hajime’s chest, his breathing steadying. He must have been exhausted, Hajime thought as he snored softly.

***

Nagito woke up again, this time welcomed by the gentle warmth of someone else holding him. He hadn’t been held since… well, since her. But that didn’t matter, because the person holding him was not her- it was his Hajime.

His whole body felt sore, but it wasn’t as bad as the day before. The events of the previous night were fuzzy, but Nagito was sure Hajime didn’t take advantage of his drugged-out state. He would have felt it.

So why was Hajime in his bed?

Hajime… he had Nagito’s knife, didn’t he? In his pocket. Nagito reached into his pants, grabbing the familiar wood handle of the knife. He immediately relaxed once his hand was on it, gripping it tightly. He didn’t know where to put it, and since he couldn’t get up, he ended up shoving the blade under his pillow.

He shifted around in Hajime’s arms, trying to find a comfortable position. Being so vulnerable made him anxious-- Hajime could have strangled him easily. But, if it was for Hajime’s sake, he could stand being in such a position for a little while longer.

“Mm, Komaeda?” Hajime yawned, opening his eyes. Nagito tried not to seem creepy for staring at him in his sleep.

“Good morning, Hinata-kun.” Nagito nodded.

“Oh, I’m not Hajime anymore?”

“Did I refer to you as such?” Nagito pulled back. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking--”

“I was making a joke. It’s okay.”

Nagito stared at the bed, humiliated. It was just like him to not understand a joke, but embarrassing, nonetheless.

“Hey, I checked your room yesterday.” Hajime took a deep breath. “I know I can’t understand why you keep hurting yourself, but I need you to stop. This isn’t good for anyone.”

“It’s good for me.”

“It isn’t. You almost died from blood loss.”

“How unlucky that I didn’t.”

“Komaeda, stop. That’s not funny.”

“No, it isn’t.” Nagito agreed. “The truth is hardly humorous, Hinata-kun.”

“Never mind.” Hajime shook his head. “We went off-topic. What I was trying to tell you is that I took your knives. They’re in my room, along with the first-aid kit.”

It didn’t matter. He had his special one right under the pillow.

“Why did you do that?” Hajime whispered, grabbing his hand lightly.

“I did not intend to commit suicide.” Nagito responded.

“Okay. But why did you do it?”

“I wanted to. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“So tell me. I want to understand you, I want to help you get better. You don’t have to isolate yourself from us.”

“Why would I do that? You all would be better off with me gone. Don’t you want me dead, so you can have a happy life?”

“No!” Hajime shouted, standing up. “No, of course I don’t! Do you know how scared I was when I found you like that? I didn’t stop crying until you woke up-!”

“Why force yourself to care about me, Hinata-kun?”

“You think I force myself to care about you? You think I want to go to sleep terrified that you’ll hurt yourself again? I can’t stop worrying about you, _ever_! It’s like looking after a toddler, Komaeda! If I could stop caring so much, I would. But I _can’t.”_

Hajime wiped his eyes with the back of his hands.

“When I found you like that, I--” He took a shaky breath. “God, I swear I thought you died. I thought you died, and I was too late to save you. Again.”

Nagito stared at him, face expressionless.

“When I look at you, your arms and legs, I can’t help but think it’s because of me. I can’t sleep anymore without worrying, without thinking that _‘hey, maybe Komaeda’s in his room cutting himself up because you don’t pay attention to him’_. It doesn’t just hurt _you_ , it hurts _me._ It _hurts_ me when I have to take your knives away because I’m scared you’ll hurt _yourself_. It hurts to see you scared of me, Nagito. It hurts so much, but I can’t _stop_.”

“I’m sorry.” 

What else was there to say?

***

Hajime didn’t come back for a while. It was boring without him, but sometimes Mikan came into the room and talked with him. Nagito came to terms with the fact that Mikan was not a bad person. At least, not any more of a bad person than the rest of them. She was actually quite kind and devoted to her nursing.

Mikan sat in the chair next to his bed after she finished taking his vitals. She smiled and pulled out a chessboard from under the hospital bed, flipping it open.

“D-do you want to play?” She asked him. He shrugged.

“Sure.”

She set up the pieces on either side of the board and rested it on the bedside table. Her thin fingers were bandaged tightly.

“W-would you like to play white?”

“You can.” Nagito said, sitting up in bed to face the chessboard.

She nodded and moved her first pawn two spaces forward. Nagito pushed his out directly opposite to it. The room was silent besides the soft clicking of pieces against a board.

“C-check.” Mikan said nervously.

“Ah, I missed that.” Nagito moved his king one space up. “Good play.”

Mikan moved her rook to where Nagito could easily take it.

“Check again…”

He took the rook, instantly regretting it. He was now in a fatal position.

“U-um, I believe that’s checkmate…” Mikan whimpered. “I’m sorry-!”

Nagito surrendered his king, resigning from the game.

“No, that was good. You’re very skilled at this game.” He held his hand out for her to shake. She flinched, closing her eyes.

“T-thank you.” She peeked out one eye, grabbing his hand and shaking it. “Y-you’re good, too.”

“Thanks. I learned to play when I was in the psych ward.”

“O-oh, me too!” Mikan smiled softly. “B-by myself, though, because no one wanted to play with me…”

“Tsumiki-san?”

“Y-yes?”

“Do you ever wish you were dead?”

“All the t-time.” Mikan admitted. “I… I feel like this is all pointless, sometimes. D-do we really deserve to be happy here, after everything we did?”

“I don’t know.”

Silence.

Mikan slowly unwrapped the bandages on her arms, revealing fresh wounds that were clearly self-inflicted. They almost matched his.

“I-I know it’s not the same, but I sort of u-understand how you feel, I believe…” She sighed and gently wrapped the bandage back in place. “It’s hard to come to terms with not living for someone else. Sometimes I feel…”

“Like you miss belonging to her?”

Mikan nodded silently.

“I-If I don’t belong to someone, w-what purpose do I serve? I-If I am not _hers_ , then what _am_ I?

“I don’t know either.”

Mikan breathed out in what almost sounded like a chuckle. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a box of cigarettes and a lighter. Her hands shook as she took one out.

“Can I have a light?” He asked.

“I-is that a good idea?”

“I won’t tell.”

She nodded slightly and tossed him one, putting her own in her mouth and lighting it. She handed Nagito the lighter.

“Aren’t doctors supposed to be against smoking?”

Mikan laughed slightly, her shoulders shaking softly. She took a puff of the cigarette before saying anything.

“P-pretty sure m-my license was revoked a while ago.”

“Shame.”

She giggled at that, putting a hand over her mouth.

“Y-you were high all the time.” Mikan stifled a laugh. “I mean, e-every time I saw you, you were on something.”

He laughed.

“Maybe I’m just like that, you know.”

They both chuckled softly.

“Y-you know, you’re the only man I feel comfortable in a room with…” She sighed. “I d-don’t know what it is, but you don’t scare me.”

“Yeah, probably because I weigh a good 12 pounds.”

“N-no, it’s not that, actually. I just… trust you, more than anyone else here.”

“Even Hinata-kun?”

She stared at the floor, cigarette burning slightly.

“H-he’s not a bad person, but… I can’t _not_ think of how he used to be.” She covered her mouth worriedly. “I-I know how much he means t-to you! I’m s-sorry, I--!”

“It’s fine.” He sighed. “You should really stop apologizing, you know.”

“S-sorry! W-wait, let me start again--”

“Don’t worry about it, really.” He gave her a weak smile. “I enjoy your company, Tsumiki-san. You’re a good friend.”

“S-so are you! U-um, I really care about you and value you a-as a friend!”

“No, you don’t have to say that. I know I’m a useless-”

“You’re not! You’re my only friend i-in the world and I would be all alone i-if you died!” She grabbed his arm. “S-so don’t die, please!”

They stared at each other in silence, Mikan still gripping his forearm.

“I’m sorr-!”

“I forgive you. For everything, actually.” He added at the end.

She gasped softly, eyes welling up with tears as she reached her arms around his neck and hugged him. He hugged back, unsure of where to put his hands. It was an awkward interaction, but sweet all the same. Mikan smelled like cigarette smoke and hand sanitizer, and Nagito could feel her sniffling against his shoulder.

“Thank you…” She whispered, squeezing him. “T-thank you, thank you…”

Her long hair fell over both of them as she cried into his shoulder. He pat her back as comfortingly as he could. Her cigarette had gone out by now, dropped onto the floor. He put his out on his own arm, as he was used to doing. Mikan stopped him, pulling it away from him. She was holding his human hand gently, running her short nails over where he had put out the cigarette.

Their hands were vastly different in every way-- hers were delicate and bandaged while his was scarred and painted with black chipping nail polish. The prosthetic arm lay limp by his thigh, but she picked that one up too. He couldn’t really feel her hands, but he knew it would have been nice if he could.

“T-there are a lot of things I regret,” She spoke. “A lot of things that, if given a chance, I would go back and change in a heartbeat.”

He cocked his head.

“But sometimes there are moments. Moments when I know I’m not alone anymore. Sometimes I forget, but there’s always someone there to remind me. I… don’t know if we deserve this second chance at a domestic life, but I know that we have it anyways. So, if it means that everything I went through brought me here, I…”

She sighed.

“I wouldn’t go back and change anything.”

“Huh.” He smiled. “You know, I never thought I’d hear something like that from you, of all people.”

She smirked, punching him very softly in the shoulder.

“H-hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“No, it’s just… nice to hear. Thank you, Tsumiki-san.”

She nodded, picking the cigarette off the floor and throwing them into the trash can by the bed. She got up from her chair and waved a small goodbye to him before heading out the door.

***

Nagito didn’t mean to cut his thigh with the knife. It was a complete accident, the first time. He was just playing with it, waiting patiently for Hajime to come back when it dropped. The other cuts had simply been out of happenstance. A stroke of bad luck, if you will. The ones on his inner thighs that burned terribly when he walked were only an accident. The crescent-shaped bruises on the inside of his palms were just a consequence of too much stress.

He didn’t know why he was lying to himself. Perhaps it was because he knew Hajime would be upset at him. But Hajime didn’t come back to see him, not even once. That was what really prompted all of Nagito’s ‘accidents’-- he couldn’t call it ‘relapsing’ if he had never really stopped. Hajime would be so disappointed.

This wasn’t the first time he had to sleep on bedsheets soaked with his own blood. His stomach churned at the memory, suddenly needing to vomit. His knife was right there, right under the pillow.

He grabbed it and carefully brought it to his damaged thighs, scraping the blade across the pale skin and reopening the old wounds he got in Towa city. It hurt, much more than usual. It was late in the evening, and he doubted anyone was listening, so he let out a sharp gasp, his breath quivering.

Blood stained his fingertips, reminding him of something he desperately tried to push back down. He was safe here. Safe with Mikan and safe with Hajime. Still, he could feel hands on his hip bones and acrylic nails digging into his ribcage as words of praise were whispered into his ears.

_“Stop…”_

He had said it then, barely able to get the words out. She kissed his neck as he dug the knife deeper into his thigh. His head was spiraling.

_“Stop-!”_

“Komaeda!”

He heard a shout and looked up from the pool of blood covering his legs. Her hand dropped from his neck, and he felt the strange absence of her lips. Not that he missed it.

Hajime was standing in the doorway with a horrified expression on his face. He lunged at Nagito, grabbing the knife out of his hands. Nagito screamed, not knowing what else to do.

“Get off!” He kicked Hajime’s chest as hard as he could, gripping onto the knife handle and pointing it at Hajime’s face.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Hajime yelled, much too loud for his ears. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Off!” He screeched. “Stop touching me!”

Hajime tried to pin his arms down to the bed, which set something off in his head.

He gasped, slashing the blade across the face in front of him. Hajime pulled away immediately, looking terrified. There was a long gash on his cheekbone that bled out onto his fingers as he backed away from Nagito, who was still gripping the weapon for dear life.

It dawned on him what he had just done.

Nagito gasped, reaching out to the other. Hajime flinched and wiped his cheek with his hand, backing into the corner of the room.

Hajime was _scared_ of him.

He pulled his extended hand back, as it was completely covered in blood. The room was still dark, Nagito just barely being able to see Hajime’s face. Nagito’s own eyes burned and welled up with tears.

_He didn’t mean for this to happen. He didn’t mean to hurt Hajime, he never wanted to hurt Hajime._

Nagito opened his mouth to say something, but a sob clawed its way out of his throat instead. He covered his mouth with his mechanical hand, the other gripping the knife still. Hot tears rolled down his cheeks and onto his stinging wounds as he looked back at Hajime, who was inching towards him slightly.

“Nagito, hey.” Hajime got closer to him, making his heart beat even faster.

“Stop! Get away from me!” He cried, shielding himself with the knife. He didn’t want to hurt Hajime again.

“Calm down and drop the knife. I’m not going to hurt you.” Hajime was standing above him.

He gasped for air, backing up into a corner slowly. He was so vulnerable like this, so easy to take advantage of. He felt like he was going to throw up.

“Nagito, please calm down. Everything is alright.”

“No, it’s not! I _hurt_ you, I-!”

“You didn’t mean to.” Hajime lowered his voice. “I’m okay, see?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He sobbed, covering his mouth to muffle his crying. “I’m so sorry, Hinata-kun…”

“Give me the knife, please.” Hajime whispered, holding his hand out. Nagito shakily dropped it into Hajime’s palm, afraid of what would happen if he didn’t comply. He didn’t want to give up the only thing he had left of his father, but he didn’t want Hajime to hurt him.

Hajime closed the knife and put it in his pocket, flicking on the desk lamp. Nagito looked down at his legs, blood seeping out from the deep cuts and pooling underneath his thighs. It stung like hell-- he had never actually gone deep like that before. Hajime gasped slightly, which just made him feel worse.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to, it just happened…” He blabbered, covering his thighs as if he was embarrassed of the wounds. Fresh blood stained his palms. Hajime shushed him and pulled his hands away, venturing over to the cabinet next to the sink and bringing back some sterilizing wipes and a roll of bandages.

“It’s okay, everything is going to be okay.” Hajime whispered, ripping off the corner of one of the wipes and unfolding it. “Let me do this, yeah?”

Nagito nodded as Hajime wiped down his legs. It stung like hell, but he didn’t say anything. Hajime was trying to help him.

“I… I’m sorry for taking the knife.” Nagito whispered, staring at everything but Hajime’s pretty hands bandaging his legs. “It’s important to me.”

“I can tell. I think, though, that we should keep it somewhere safe for now. I can get you something else to soothe yourself when you feel this way.” Hajime finished wrapping the bandages around Nagito’s unnaturally skinny thighs and pulled him onto the bedside chair. Nagito, unable to move, said nothing as Hajime stripped the hospital bed of its sheets.

“Can you sleep in my room tonight, Komaeda?” Hajime asked, balling up the bedsheets and tossing them in the corner of the room.

“I don’t want to bother you with my disgraceful presence, I should just-”

“Please. It would make me feel safer to have you there. I don’t think I can leave you alone.”

Nagito said nothing, letting Hajime pull him up from the chair as he leaned on his shoulder for support. There were bloodstains on his hospital gown that made him sick to look at. Hajime looked exhausted, and Nagito knew it was his fault.

Then again, what wasn’t Nagito’s fault?

***

Hajime let him sleep in the bed. By himself, of course-- why would Hajime want to share a bed with someone like Nagito? Hajime didn’t give him a change of clothes, so he had to sleep in his bloody hospital gown. But, of course, he didn’t tell Hajime that.

Hajime was on the couch, typing something on his laptop. The dim light illuminated his face in the dark of his room, and Nagito felt comforted. Someone was there with him. For the first time in years, he wasn’t alone at night. He hugged one of Hajime’s pillows-- it smelled like him.

“You can go to sleep, Komaeda.” Hajime yawned.

“I’m not tired.” Nagito lied. Truthfully, he was just scared of having more nightmares. “Are you waiting for me to sleep first?”

“I just want to make sure you don’t try anything while I’m sleeping.”

“Well, Hinata-kun, I can guarantee you I’m not going to hurt myself in your presence. So you can sleep now.”

“I just…”

“You don’t trust me, is that it? I understand, I do. I’m a nutcase psychopath that just happens to be suicidal.” He wrapped his arms around himself. Hajime frowned.

“No, I’m worried for you. In fact…” Hajime stood up and closed his computer, the room going completely dark. “I’m going to make sure that nothing happens.”

Hajime lay down next to him in bed, turning to face him. Nagito couldn’t see well in the dark, but he knew Hajime was smiling at him, so he tried to smile back.

“You, ah, really don’t need to do that.” Nagito mumbled.

“I know, but I want to. Can I touch you?”

“If that will make you happy.” He responded. He didn’t really want to be touched, but if it was Hajime, he would comply. Hajime sighed and rested a hand on the other’s shoulder, making him flinch slightly.

“Sorry.”

Nagito was feeling uncomfortable. Hajime was very close to him, and he couldn’t see his face. Hajime could kill him right now, or even worse…

“Hey.” Hajime snapped him out of his trance. “Something’s upsetting you.”

“I’m making you worry.”

“You are, but I’m not angry. I’m more mad at myself.”

“Don’t be.”

Nagito was silent after that, laying his head down and staring up at the ceiling once again. His hands shook slightly.

“Do you believe in God?” Hajime whispered.

“I used to.” Nagito answered. “I used to go to church every Sunday and pray every night before bed. But now, I can’t imagine that a god exists at all. If he does, I’m sure he hates me. That’s what I’ve been told, at least.”

Hajime shifted in his position.

“He doesn’t hate anyone, I thought?”

“Well, he hates _me_.”

“But why?”

“A lot of reasons. I don’t expect you to get it, really. But if I do get to see him, I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll spit in his face. For leaving me alone and scared when I was a kid. For making me hate myself for just _being_ who I am. _Fuck_ that guy.”

“Well, you’re probably not going to see him now.” Hajime chuckled.

“Better that way.” Nagito stuck his middle finger up at the ceiling. “Fuck everyone. Fuck me, fuck you, fuck talent, fuck Junko Enoshima, and fuck _God.”_

“Jeez.” Hajime mumbled.

“Jeez.” Nagito repeated. “Do you believe in God, Hinata-kun?”

“I don’t know. I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure it out, yet I still don’t know.” He sighed. “Guess that’s not really an answer, though.”

“I think it is. I think it might be the best answer of all.”

***

_Nagito Komaeda was eight years old when his parents took him on his first airplane ride. He loved it, the feeling of being in the air and looking at the clouds as if he were floating. Miles and miles above ground, he could look down out the window and at the tiny cars in their tiny parking lots. His pale face was pressed against the glass, his breath fogging it slightly._

_His mother rolled her eyes and sighed. Nagito’s parents fought a lot, but he loved them anyways. They weren’t the most amazing parents, but they were his, and that was what really mattered. They were bickering about something else now._

_The plane was going fast now. Nagito didn’t mind, but everyone else seemed to._

_He pushed his strawberry-blonde bangs out of his eyes and looked back at his mother, who was squeezing his hand tightly. He tried to wiggle out of her grasp, but she wouldn’t let go. Her eyes were shiny as she covered his ears with her hands._

_Something was said over the loudspeaker, but he couldn’t hear it. He could hear muffled crying while a mask was slipped over his face. His mother leaned in close to his ears and whispered something to him._

_“I love you, darling. Close your eyes.”_

***

Nagito awoke in a cold sweat, his hair stuck to his face and his breath shaky. Something was squeezing him tightly, constricting his breath. He tried to wriggle out of the grasp, his throat closing in on him.

“Mm…” A voice said from behind him. Nagito took a sharp breath, whipping his head around. There was a person in bed with him. Nagito tried pulling the person’s arms off him, but they were too strong.

Nagito panicked.

“Get off me!”

No answer from the person. Perhaps they were dead. Perhaps they were dead, and Nagito killed them. It wouldn’t be the first time.

They pulled him closer to their body and hugged his waist. He did the only thing he could think of and bit the person’s arm.

That startled them.

“Ow, what gives?” They sat up and let go of him, brown hair falling over their eyes. Nagito realized the person was a man.

“H-Hinata-kun?” Nagito questioned.

“The hell was that for?” Hajime groaned and rubbed the spot where Nagito had bitten him.

“I didn’t realize it was you, I- forgive me, Hinata-kun-!”

Nagito covered his mouth with his human hand.

“Shit, are you okay?” Hajime stared at him. Nagito was even more panicked than before, realizing that he had hurt Hajime again.

“I’m so sorry, Hinata-kun, this is all my fault-”

“Calm down, okay?” Hajime grabbed his hand. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

Nagito pulled his hand out of Hajime’s grip and got off the bed, standing up and immediately falling to his knees. A sharp pain shot through his thighs.

“Komaeda!” Hajime knelt down to his height and held out a hand. Nagito took it but still couldn’t pull himself up, so Hajime picked him up bridal-style and laid him back in bed.

“I’m sorry-” He started. Hajime shushed him and covered him with his blanket.

“Please, stop apologizing.”

He shut up, not wanting to upset Hajime any more. He had assumed it was late in the afternoon, but the clock only read 3:00 AM. Hajime must have woken up because of him. That made him feel worse about himself as Hajime crawled back into bed with him.

He tried closing his eyes. He desperately wanted to sleep, to stop thinking about the searing pain in his legs and his mother’s last words to him. That only made him think of it more.

“You okay, Komaeda?”

“I’m so tired.” Was Nagito’s response. “It’s not even worth it anymore. I’m just so tired of everything.”

“I know. I feel like that sometimes, too. But, you know, Nagito-” Hajime smiled at him. “I want you to stick around for a little longer. For me?”

“Hm, for a useless reserve student?” Nagito quipped, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “I guess I’ll try.”

Hajime snorted and rolled over, cradling Nagito in his arms like they were lovers. That made him shamefully happy. It shouldn’t have, right? Hajime was so disgusted by the way he treated himself, he would never want to be with him.

Still…

“You can stop checking my pulse every five minutes, you know.” Hajime interrupted his inner monologue, pulling Nagito’s hand off of his wrist.

“I’m making sure you’re still alive.”

“I know that. But I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

Silence again.

“I meant what I said, Komaeda. About wanting you to get better.”

“You can’t fix me, Hinata.”

“No, I can’t. There’s nothing to fix about you.”

“There’s everything to fix about me. My head, my body, my--”

Hajime kissed him.

Hajime _kissed_ him.

“Why did you do that?” Nagito pulled away. “Why would you--”

Hajime sighed and rested his head on Nagito’s neck.

“Love makes people do crazy things.”

“You… you love me? Why?”

“If only I knew.” Hajime laughed.

Nagito put his hands on Hajime’s back in an awkward hug. This is how people hug, right? He didn’t feel self-conscious about his hugging skills with Mikan, so why was he so afraid of his inadequacy at hugging now? Was it because he loved Hajime?

He couldn’t love Hajime. Hajime was a worthless, good-for-nothing reserve course student. Hajime meant nothing to him.

If Hajime meant something, anything to him, what would happen? Would Hajime die a painful death? Would he go on to love someone else?

Hajime should have been gone by now. He should have been torn to pieces or abandoned Nagito, but neither happened. Hajime was there, with him, right now. And he was okay. He was alive. His heart was beating, his lungs were breathing, and he was alive.

Hajime was like a cockroach. Those things never die-- they’ll end up outliving humans, eventually. They’re too stubborn to die, honestly.

So, maybe, just maybe, this was a risk Nagito could take. Maybe he could love someone without consequence. And maybe someone could love Nagito, too.

Even if that someone was a stupid, worthless, reserve-course cockroach.

***

**Author's Note:**

> morphine: "Morphine is in a class of medications called opiate (narcotic) analgesics. It works by changing the way the brain and nervous system respond to pain. Morphine is highly addictive and comes in multiple forms, most common being as a solution (liquid), an extended-release (long-acting) tablet."  
> knife: knives can be good survival tools, as well as gifts.  
> "If I am not yours, then what am I?" -Wife, Mitski  
> Ghost Town: it's a kanye song. sorry. its good.


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